I remember looking up. I remember looking into that second story window. It was cold outside; I was wearing my winter coat and I remember seeing a string of what may have been Christmas lights flickering on the inside. Life was moving all around me, yet life was oddly still on the other side of that window.
I have always been fascinated by what’s on the other side. Because I also remember looking out of windows from the inside many years before that memory. I remember moisture on the inside of my living room window watching the snow fall outside. It was a light slow. My mom was making Swiss Miss hot chocolate. I remember every snowflake fall. Gently. Slowly. Enormous pillows of soft, delicious whiteness.
I also remember the door. It was open slightly. I remember being afraid to go through it.
Each of these, and the entirety of my lifetime of threshold memories have created excitement and trepidation. Thresholds have made me feel safe and they have also made me afraid. They have made me want more and they have made me feel comfortable. They are doorways to the other side of where I am now. It is how I observe the world. Life, beauty, and happiness are always on the other side from me. Sometimes I get to choose whether to make them my own. Sometimes I observe from afar and close the door.
Life in Española puts all of us looking at a threshold, one we could choose to walk through and go backwards, repeating a past that was not glorious here, at least not in politics, or we can choose to make life better here for everyone, not just those seeking more power in what has been the grimy side of politics.
Last week, I was overcome by sadness and flung the door wide open. In a world that teaches us lessons only when we are ready to receive them, I now know why the caged bird sings.
I went looking for some things at the local pharmacy. You’ve been there, inside, once a week for your prescriptions and groceries. Maybe you’re there more often but no matter how many times you visit, the place, by the busiest intersection in Española is always a lost and forlorn place. Last week I felt like I was crossing the threshold of reality going for a world that I understood into a topsy-turvy zombie apocalypse movie. The shelves were completely empty. And those that were filled were a mess. Even the customers seemed like actors in a movie I couldn’t quite understand. I could only observe.
Not finding what I needed, I drove to the other nearby pharmacy. It was a repetition of the same scene with nondescript characters in a drama I couldn’t quite navigate. Maybe it was me. Maybe I was the one who did not belong. Maybe this was a threshold with a door wide shut that I was not allowed to enter.
Many times, in my life I have observed the pain of others and I felt it last week. Sometimes, though, when you pass through the threshold pain turns to joy.
That day last week, having left both pharmacies empty-handed, I drove past a bird sitting on the side of the road. Odd, I thought. Birds fly. That’s what they are meant to do. Why was he stuck there? He didn’t move as I drove dangerously close to him. I imagined the bird was injure, had his wings clipped somehow and now just stood there, immobile, helpless. His red eyes looked at me as I drove past. In the sadness of my heart, I wondered what had happened to him? Where had he gone wrong? Where had he been hurt? And why couldn’t he make sense of this world in which he was meant to fly. Why was there no one there to help? Could he be helped?
Thresholds are meant to be crossed.
They need to be crossed whether or not we feel comfortable on this side of the window. Even if we feel safe on our side of the door, challenges are meant to be faced.
Española is like that bird on the side of the road. It and we are apparently injured. As a community we are standing by with the city waiting its turn. But Española is a lot more than that. It has the capacity to fly beyond any measure. And it doesn’t need anyone’s pity. It needs love and understanding. We don’t need to return to “better times”. We don’t need calls for an imaginary and romantic time when peace and harmony ruled the land. You know why? Because it never existed.
Times have always been tough, yet we have endured. Politicians will pine over and reminisce about so called better days even though they weren’t alive to experience them. We need solutions for now. Not for 50 years ago. Today’s challenges are real and omnipresent. To solve them we must look forward.
Our politicians need to pass through the threshold of hope and new beginnings.
Just as I was driving past that seemingly helpless bird, I felt the pain of my experiences of sadness in the past. But, just as the feeling of helplessness started to take root, I saw something brilliant and perfect. In my rear-view mirror, I could see that bird take flight. He wasn’t injured at all. He was just waiting. Observing me. Perhaps he was looking at me from beyond his threshold. Waiting for me to bear witness to him in order to spread his wings. Maybe he needed an audience to announce his grandeur. Or maybe he was just waiting for the right time.
Thresholds are a funny thing. Cross over and welcome the change that awaits. You will be rewarded with hope and beauty. And just maybe, you’ll take flight too.
Javier Sánchez is the former mayor of the City of Española, NM, and the co-owner of La Cocina New Mexican Restaurant.